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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24269164">Buzz Off</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pasteles/pseuds/Pasteles'>Pasteles</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Into the College-Verse [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Quiz Bowl, College Student Peter Parker, Competitive Peter Parker, F/M, I might’ve gone overboard with the rivalry, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oops, Peter goes a bit feral, Quiz Bowl, academic decathlon - Freeform, college rivalry, intense rivalry, no betas we die like men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:47:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,006</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24269164</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pasteles/pseuds/Pasteles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Players at the ready. Quiz bowl is an exciting game of knowledge, skill, and speed. However, when you come face to face with an infuriatingly handsome player from a rival school, your love for the game gets in the way. For 10 points, what happens next?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Into the College-Verse [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1731616</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>89</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. it’s a fine day to kick some ass</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Notes before we begin<br/>1. Buckle Up<br/>2. I hope no one sues me, because I wrote this only with the purest love for the game.<br/>3. A lot of tournaments are called by acronyms that stand for something ridiculous and complex. It’s a Thing™<br/>4. Don’t you DARE tell me that MIT doesn’t stand for Manhattan Institute of Technology because the handful of people I know at the real MIT are massive BITCHES. I’m talking Super Toxic Academics. The Massachusetts Institute of Technology is therefore CANCELLED. I’m not sorry.<br/>5. For all intents and purposes academic decathlon no longer exists. There is only quiz bowl now.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bold font caught your eye from across the commons. You eagerly scanned over the flier stuck to the corkboard with matching pushpins and could scarcely contain your excitement. </p><p>
  <em>This Labor Day Weekend at Stark Tower in midtown Manhattan, join us for the first annual TONY STARK academic quiz bowl tournament!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>TONY STARK:</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tournament<br/>
Of<br/>
New<br/>
York’s</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Super<br/>
Trivia<br/>
Applicants<br/>
Reaping<br/>
Knowledge </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Individual and team events will be held for players in middle school, high school, and college divisions, with generous scholarships furnished by Stark Industries as prizes. Register Below: </em>
</p><p>The offer was too good to refuse. Going from your college campus in Connecticut down to the city was always a pain in the ass, but you’d gladly endure the hellish commute for quiz bowl. Anything for quiz bowl. Anything for a scholarship! You grabbed your phone and took a quick picture of the flier and QR code. Making a mental note to register later, you ran off to make it to your lecture before the TA took attendance.  </p><p>—</p><p>Stark Tower was in disarray with preparations for the tournament. Obviously, the whole shebang was sponsored by Stark Industries as a good bit of PR and it also served a secondary function to help scout out potential talent. It was a win-win in Tony’s books. And Tony never lost. </p><p>He had spared no expense or consideration putting the whole thing together, even blocking off four floors of the tower for the tournament. Each office space and boardroom was converted to the perfect match space. Ten desks were arranged in a semicircle around a podium, where the moderator would stand and read questions. The buzzer sets, state-of-the-art and designed with a bit of Tony’s input, were wireless. Rather than have the disgusting tangle of wires around the machine, connecting each handheld buzzer to the clunky control panel, he had opted for a more streamlined look. </p><p>Each player would have their own handheld buzzer that would be coded to them and would automatically connect to the control panel during each match, showing their name digitally when they pushed the red button and buzzed in. That way, the moderators could see exactly who it was that had pushed the button first and give them the proper credit. It was also useful for collecting data. With a glance at the specs, automatically compiled and arranged into attractive graphics, he could see which players were buzzing on what type of questions and when. He wanted the best of the best, not just in science, but all across the board. </p><p>He had even commissioned the best writers for the new question packets, throwing in a few questions of his own about the Avengers and the likes. The acronym, too, was an invention all of his own. And he was quite proud of it. Still, with so much to do before the players would arrive the next morning, Tony did not have time to argue with his favorite protégé. Even if he was his only protégé. </p><p>“Peter, I don’t have time for this.” He said as plainly, back turned so he could run logistics through FRIDAY. </p><p>“Mr. Stark, please! You’ve gotta let me compete!” </p><p>Ever since word had gotten out about the tournament, Peter had badgered every single day to be allowed to register. Every. Single. Day. Tony would’ve admired the persistence were he not on its receiving end.  </p><p>“I would get accused of favoritism. Besides, there’s a clause in the rules that says employees and relatives of employees of Stark Industries are ineligible.” </p><p>“I’m an intern, not an employee.” Peter pointed out, though it was merely a technicality and he knew it. “Please! I played quiz bowl when I was in high school. I was really good! We went to nationals.” </p><p>“All the more reason why I shouldn’t let you play. Give the other kiddos a chance.” </p><p>“Please, Mr. Stark!”</p><p>Tony made the mistake of turning around to look at him. Since high school, he’s grown just a bit taller, but he carried himself with so much more confidence and assurance. Peter wasn’t looking to prove himself anymore—no, he’d already proven himself, time and time again at Tony’s behest. This was a man looking to show off. Who could resist giving him a shot? The entertainment value alone would be something to behold. </p><p>“Fine.” Tony said, patience worn too thin. </p><p>“You won’t regret it! Thank you Mr. Stark.” </p><p>Peter then ran off to study, or whatever he was doing these days, letting the door bounce closed behind him. Tony shook his head and turned back to the display in front of him. He made a mental note to observe the stats from his matches. </p><p>--</p><p>Saturday morning, the day of the tournament, you left your apartment on campus before the crack of dawn to catch the train to the city. It was just over a 2 hour trip from New Haven, but you didn’t mind the wait, as it gave you a chance to brush up on your knowledge. </p><p>When you competed on a team, each player had their speciality area of knowledge they focused on. It was more an informal delegation than anything else, but it was useful when making sure you had all your bases covered when forming teams to play at  tournaments. You typically were the literature and fine arts player on the team, even though you were a STEM student, so all those subjects were covered. </p><p>Even though quiz bowl was typically played as a team sport, you were forced to register for the individual competition for TONY STARK. Your usual teammates had been either unwilling or unable to make the trip down to the city to join you. Cowards. At least you wouldn’t have to share in the glory when you kicked some cosmopolitan ass. </p><p>That being said, as an individual player, without a team to supplement your knowledge base, your specialties wouldn’t be enough to give you the edge in competition. You used the train ride, then, to review politics, current events, and other subjects you were seriously lacking in. It might have been your nerves, or perhaps the venti cold brew you’d bought for the ride, but you were buzzing with excitement. </p><p>The logistics for the game was simple: for each match, ten individual players were assigned to one room and pitted against each other. The moderator read each tossup question aloud and as soon as you knew the answer you buzzed in. A correct answer was worth 10 points. If you answered it early enough in the question, it was worth 15. A wrong answer was -5. If you’d buzzed and got it incorrect, you would be locked out from answering again as the moderator finished the question for the other players.  </p><p>The single question and answer format made for a blitzing fast game, with the mechanic chiming of the buzzers and shouted answers only increasing in frenzy. You thrived on that sort of chaos and could not wait to compete. The rumbling of the train shook your hand as you went through list after list of politicians on your phone. </p><p>You arrived at Stark Tower a little before 9 in the morning, right before registration and check-in opened. At the desk, you signed a waiver of consent for, like, picture rights and some shit before being presented with a name tag and a fancy-looking buzzer, stainless steel with a red button. It was the shape of cylinder, meant to be held in the palm of one hand and the circular red button at the top was meant to be pressed with your thumb. At the base of it, where a wire would typically connect it to the machine, there was an embossed logo for Stark Industries. </p><p>You’d never seen a wireless buzzer before, but the sheer technology involved excited you. You felt its weight in your hand, perfectly balanced. It was going to be a fun day. </p><p>“Keep this with you the entire day. You’ll use this for all gameplay and then take it home with you as a souvenir.” The lady at the desk explained, handing you a packet with your schedule and other information about the tournament. “Thank you for competing and best of luck!”</p><p>Your first match was set for 10, so you took the opportunity to explore the building and figure out where your matches would take place. You’d never been inside Stark Tower before, but you’d heard as many rumors as the next person, so you were particularly excited to get to be inside. A few floors were reserved solely for gameplay, so all the players had free reign of those areas. The college individual tournament had a floor all to itself, so many students had registered to play. </p><p>The floor was arranged in a big U-shaped, with the different game rooms, which were blocked off behind doors, lining the perimeter. A spacious common area filled the middle, with various seating options facing a huge window. Quiz bowl wasn’t really a spectator sport, so having a space to be outside of the game rooms was necessary in order to take breaks. There definitely was such a thing as too much quiz bowl, and being forced to hang out in an active game room would bring about the overdose much too quickly. The common area was better than heaven. And that view! </p><p>At the top of each hour, ten players would disappear into each game room and the door would close. Half an hour later, one person would emerge victorious. Then those players would evacuated to the common space for a quick break while a new set would take their place for another match in the same room, ending before the top of the hour again so the cycle could begin anew. </p><p>You were scheduled to compete in a minimum of three rounds, but if you did particularly well and made it to playoffs, that could easily double. You were determined to last as long as you could. Standing at one of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the edge of the common space, you looked out over the city and let your mind wander, circling back to the politicians you’d studied on the train earlier. </p><p>This quiet meditation before the match was one of your strategies to success. You relished in the peace and calm. That is, until you were interrupted. </p><p>“The view from here really is something, isn’t it?” Some guy came and stood next to you, nearly pressing his nose up against the glass. </p><p>“Yeah,” you said mildly, peering at him out of the corner of your eye. He was just a bit taller than you, with curly brown hair and a smile that could considerably speed up the melting of the glaciers. Your heart skipped a beat, any irritation at having been bothered dissipating in an instant. He could bother you all day long and you definitely wouldn’t mind.</p><p>“Are you competing today? Which school are you from?” It was a dumb question, you knew, but you couldn’t come up with anything else to say. He smiled again, and you thought you could get quite used to the sight. </p><p>“Yeah, I’m from MIT here in Manhattan. Campus is just there.” He pointed out the window, gesturing to a site only a few blocks away. Your eyes narrowed as he asked. “What about you?”</p><p>“New Haven Tech.” You told him, raising an eyebrow. He took a half-step back. </p><p>“Oh.” He said. </p><p>Your schools were sworn rivals, each swapping place in the rankings year by year as their students viciously competed and rose to the top. If you’d hated the smug look on his face before, it was ten times worse now. The fact that he was incredibly good-looking made it almost unbearable. </p><p>The rivalry between New Have Tech and MIT was practically ancient, though it didn’t really ignite to the blood-boiling level of passion it was presently until a decade or so ago. As the story goes, top scientists from New Haven and Manhattan collaborated on developing this new, crazy vaccine that could prevent and cure all viral and bacterial ailments. They were so close to being able to publish their findings and disseminate the solution throughout the world, but the Manhattan scientists, wanting more than the 50/50 share of credit, sabotaged their own project and destroyed the lab. Over a million dollar’s worth of ingenuity and innovation went up in flames the night they burned it. </p><p>Both schools condemned the incident and the scientists involved were all supposedly fired and de-affiliated from the universities. It was swept under the rug, as much as such a scandal could be. The husk of the destroyed lab was left to sit in New Haven, on a corner of campus were it sat, a graveyard and testament to any hope of cooperation between the universities. </p><p>It might’ve been a little sacrilegious, but no good New Haven student could so much as get a cold without cursing MIT’s very name. The destruction of the knowledge-base set the project back years. At one point, the New Haven scientists who had inherited the project had found it too daunting. They simply gave up and the project was abandoned. Still, the hatred brewed on. </p><p>MIT. Of fucking course he had to be from MIT. While on the outside, you had a pleasant, neutral expression on your face, on the inside you were lamenting your rotten luck. Why couldn’t you find a cute, smart guy from your own school? Why were all the New Haven Tech guys so tragically undatable? It wasn’t fair!</p><p>Glancing at your watch, you noticed it was thankfully time for you to leave. It was almost 10, and you had a feeling the moderators were going to start right on time. </p><p>“It was nice to meet you.” You told him, with a varying degree of certainty. How nice could it be? “Maybe I’ll see you around.”</p><p>You left. </p><p>“Wait, I didn’t get your name!” He called after you. You kept your eyes forward and didn’t respond. MIT? Really?</p><p>—</p><p>Your first match was a breeze. You were just relieved that meeting your personal kryptonite—a hot MIT guy—hadn’t thrown your off your game too badly. The buzzer heavy in your hand, you kept ringing in to answer questions. You got one on the Krebs cycle for power and gleefully watched as the score next to your name shot up 15 points. Boy, the adrenaline rush you got from competing was unlike any other in the world. </p><p>You won the match, a full fifty points ahead of the second place finisher. After exchanging handshakes and thanking the moderator you were released back into the common area for a quick break before the next match. You took the opportunity to grab some water and reply to some emails. </p><p>The second and third rounds were just like the first. Your buzzer got an awful lot of use and you kept ringing in to shout the answer. </p><p>Genghis Khan.</p><p>Alice Walker’s <em>The Color Purple</em>.</p><p>Binary script. </p><p>Plutonium. </p><p>The Hagia Sophia. </p><p>The coefficient of friction.</p><p>Ganglion cells.</p><p>You buzzed in to answer again and again and again, watching the number next to your name rise higher and higher. After winning the first match, you came in third for the second and won the third. After three rounds, the playing field was cut in half and remaining competitors were all randomly shuffled into a playoff bracket. Every remaining game played would be one on one, until only one player remained. </p><p>You were delighted to see that you had made the cut for the playoffs—though not surprised one bit. You knew you were good. The playoffs were to start at 2 pm sharp, to give everyone a chance for lunch after the preliminary rounds. After lunch, you found yourself back over by the window, killing time before your first match. Every so often, you glanced over your shoulder to see if you could find MIT boy. You told yourself you were keeping an eye out so you could make sure to avoid him, but you were lying to yourself. </p><p>You wondered if he’d come and try to talk to you again, while at the same time hoping he wouldn’t. </p><p>Luckily, 2 pm came and went without issue. The first few rounds of the playoffs went by in an absolute blur for you, just one endless stream of information coming from the moderator, your ears pricked and ready for each and every clue coming your way.</p><p>The Buddha.</p><p>Buenos Aires, Argentina.</p><p>Han Solo.</p><p>It wasn’t easy, but you won your matches. Some were closer than others, but you wide knowledge base was unbeatable for most of the players.</p><p>When you got to the semifinal match, not only had a sizable crowd packed into the repurposed conference room, but your opponent was missing. There were two chairs, one on either side of the moderator’s podium.<br/>
You gave the moderator your name and he confirmed it on his tablet that you were in the right place. You completed buzzer checks and rang in, seeing the light on the switchboard illuminate.</p><p>The last second before, the door swung open with a slam. The sudden intrusion startled you, but you were relieved that your opponent, it would seem, had finally showed up. </p><p>“I’m sorry I’m late!” he said breathlessly, sliding into the empty chair across from you. You made eye contact and your heart dropped. </p><p>Fuck. It was MIT boy. </p><p>He’d obviously just come running from somewhere, his hair askew. Still, you noticed painfully, he was no less handsome. </p><p>“Name?” The moderator asked with the patience of a saint. </p><p>“Peter Parker.” He said, out of breath. “From MIT.” </p><p>You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. For New Haven Tech and the glory of everyone there, you were going to beat this boy into the dust. You had no other choice. </p><p>“You’re just in time. Best of luck to both players. Are we ready to begin?” The moderator asked.</p><p><em>I was born ready</em>, you thought, squeezing your buzzer in your hand. <em>You’re going down, Peter Parker from MIT.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. It’s a fine day to get your ass kissed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Fucked around, went feral, wrote this</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I’m writing this instead of a paper due Sunday rip to my prof but this is more fun to think about. Also, Peter goes sorta feral during this? I don’t hate it.</p><p>The semifinal round began and with it came the adrenaline spike that accompanied you in every match. You were determined to win, not just for yourself, but for New Haven Tech. </p><p>Fuck MIT. </p><p>The moderator started reading the first question in a steady, even cadence, his voice low and his pronunciation of every word textbook-perfect. The clues pointed towards something scientific, and you were racing to come up with the answer. It was so familiar, you definitely had studied the topic before. It was in the tip of your tongue... Yes! That was it! You buzzed, but Peter has already beat you to it. </p><p>“Gibbs free energy!” He said, nodding his head. The moderator added ten points to his score and you fumed. </p><p>He got lucky. </p><p>During the next question, the same thing happened. You were just about to buzz, but Peter Parker beat you to it, your thumb furiously mashing the button to no avail. You shifted your buzzer from your right hand to your left and took a deep breath. It was obvious that Peter was really fucking good at science. That was fine. That was just fine. You would just beat him to all the other ones. </p><p>Quiz bowl was not only a game of knowledge, but of strategy. For each science, tech, and math question Peter got, you picked up the literature, fine arts, and current events ones. </p><p>“The Macedonian Renaissance!” You shouted. As you buzzed super early in the question, 15 points were added to your score, pulling you an extra five points ahead of Peter. You smirked, looking over at your opponent. He matched the fire in your gaze with equal intensity and you were more determined to put him in his place. </p><p>Fuck MIT. </p><p>The moderator read the next question and your gaze slid to his face, studying him and his reactions. He was surprisingly endearing to watch, each and every thought written plainly on his face as he worked through each question. One of his errant curls flopped forward over his forehead and he brushed it away impatiently, fingers shifting over his buzzer as his brow furrowed. Suddenly he straightened in his chair and you heard the mechanic buzz. </p><p>“Heidelberg’s principle.”</p><p>Shit. You knew that one. </p><p>No more watching him. Quick glances only. </p><p>Shifting in the stiff plastic chair, you redoubled your efforts to focus on nothing but the moderator’s voice. Luckily, the next few questions were on different topics and you were easily able to beat Peter to them. </p><p>Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher.</p><p>The number 11. </p><p>Bell Bottom Jeans. </p><p>Of course, every so often a science question would be thrown in and he would gain another ten points, always looking to you afterwards with his eyebrows raised, as if to say, <em> how do you like that?</em> You appreciated the good old-fashioned trash talk, no matter how minimal. Making sure to return the favor every time you pulled ahead, there was quite a spirited back-and-forth between your chairs, communicated solely through facial expressions. It was just part of the game. </p><p>You got a question about Ernest Hemingway; he got one on the moons of Jupiter. You got a question on Chichen Itza; he got one on micrometers. </p><p>You were pretty evenly matched, if a little too evenly. Not a single question in the round went dead, meaning that at least one of you had the answer for every single one, which was an impressive feat. However, this meant that, when drawing to the end of the match, your scores were perfectly tied. Protocol meant that, in order to declare a winner, three additional questions would be read to decide the winner, best of three. </p><p>The was a moment‘s pause in gameplay while the moderator fetched the set of three questions. Tension hung thick in the air, suffocating only the players. You and Peter sat in silence as the throngs of spectators around you spoke in hurried, murmured conversations amongst themselves. </p><p>“Do you think he’s single?” You overheard one of the spectators, an eliminated player, say to her friend. It was most likely in reference to Peter. You looked over at him and snickered, tilting your head towards the girl. He had heard it too, shrugging his shoulders at you noncommittally. He seemed quite unperturbed, picking a bit of lint from the sweater her wore over a button up. Seriously, could this kid be any nerdier? </p><p>You grabbed a drink of water and the moderator signaled for the spectators to quiet down so the tie breaker questions could be read. Nervous energy twisted in your stomach. Though you knew you usually had nerves of steel under pressure, you wondered if he did too. You glanced back over at him, but he did not notice, his eyes firmly on the moderator. </p><p>“Ready to begin?” </p><p>Peter got the first one easily. You weren’t even sure what the topic was, but he answered something about radiation so quickly you couldn’t even feel bad about not knowing it. It must’ve been his area of research or something. </p><p>The second one went to you. It was a literature question, asking about the infamous windmills from Cervantes’s <em>Don Quixote</em>. It was simple, easy stuff. You were sure you’d heard the same question at a middle school tournament, but you weren’t complaining. Ten points were ten points. </p><p>That meant it all came down to the last question. You took a deep breath and steadied yourself, preparing for the final hurdle. One question was all that stood between you and the championship round.</p><p>The moderator began to read—was he going slower than normal or was it all in your imagination? He was talking about a masked vigilante of unknown origins... whose fame came around only as a result of videos spreading the internet fighting crime with a patented, insect-inspired technique— </p><p>Of course!</p><p>You pressed the button with all your might. The light signaled that you had won the buzz. </p><p>“Spiderman!” You shouted gleefully, watching as the numbers next to your name changed again. The screen lit up to show a well-designed graphic, showing that the final score was 150 you, 130 Peter. </p><p>Fuck MIT, indeed. </p><p>A smattering of polite applause filled the room and you cheerily stuck your hand out for Peter to shake. </p><p>“Good game.” You said brightly, your cheeks flushed with pride. </p><p>“Y-yeah, good game.” His grip was a bit lax, his eyes wide. “Congratulations.” </p><p>“Thanks.” You smiled, trying not to gloat or rub it in. Quickly gathering your things, you were informed by the moderator that the championship round would be taking place in about half an hour, and to report down to the auditorium for the match. Your opponent was yet to be named. After fielding congratulations and good luck wishes from the spectators who lingered after the match, you decided to head straight towards the auditorium to get a feel for the space before competing. </p><p>You were walking down one of the narrow halls, trying to find your way to the other section of the building when you heard loud footsteps behind you, slapping on the floor as their owner raced towards you. </p><p>“Hey, wait up!”</p><p>It was Peter and he was a little out of breath. You stopped in your path and turned towards him as he bounded up to join you. </p><p>“You beat me to a question about Spiderman.” He said, speaking almost as if he were in some sort of trance, his face incredulous and lacking expression. </p><p>“Did I?” You cocked your head and played dumb. Was he some kind of sore loser or something? “I beat you to a lot of questions.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah you definitely did but... Spiderman.” He put particular emphasis on the word. “How do you know so much about him?” </p><p>Raising an eyebrow, you looked him up and down, as if that would give you insight to his motive. You weren’t quite sure what this was all about. </p><p>“Eh, I read the news.” You tossed your hair over your shoulder and turned on your heel to keep walking. With lightning quick reflexes, his hand caught your bicep and spun you back to face him, his face inches from yours. </p><p>If this weren’t a super weird conversation you were having right now, the action might’ve been kinda hot. Well, Peter was undeniably attractive, but you were still wary of the situation. </p><p>“No, you don’t get it. I know Spiderman. Personally.” He told you, squeezing your arm a little bit to punctuate his sentence. </p><p>“Then you’d better not tell him I beat you to that question.” You smirked, wrenching your arm from his grasp and stepping half a step away. You were still close enough you could feel his breath. “I can’t believe Spiderman would associate with someone from MIT.” </p><p>“I can’t believe someone from New Haven would care so much about him.” He shot back, closing what little space there was between you. Your back was against a wall and his eyes bored into yours, but you welcomed it. </p><p>“What makes you think I care?” You tilted your chin back to keep careful eye contact with him, your skin tingling where his body pressed into yours. He brought his face closer to yours, just barely resting his forehead against your own. </p><p>This was definitely the weirdest and most questionably arousing conversation about a quiz bowl match you had ever had. And that was really saying something, because during your freshman year of college you made a quiz bowl drinking game and nearly blacked out. Those were some good memories. </p><p>“I can tell that you care.” He said before he kissed you, taking your lower lip into his mouth and sucking. Your flung your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and choking out a moan when his teeth scraped your lip. </p><p>Making out in a hallway with the boy you’d just solidly beaten in a quiz bowl match was definitely not something you ever expected doing, but here you were, doing it. And it felt amazing. His hands caressed your sides, the flat of his palm smoothing over your skin like he was mapping every inch of it and leaving a searing trail in its wake. </p><p>Breathlessly, you pulled back, your hands dropping from his neck to fist in the collar of his sweater, holding him in place. You glanced at your watch on your wrist. </p><p>“Right, well, this has been absolutely fantastic, but I’ve gotta go. The match is gonna start soon.” You told him, only a little upset that you had spent all this time before the match engaging with him rather than preparing for the final round. At that, his demeanor changed, softening from the calloused and accusatory stance he had taken before. Peter blushed, dropping his head. </p><p>“Oh! Yeah, yeah, of course. Sorry. Good luck. You’ll be great. You definitely don’t need luck. You go to New Haven.” He rambled. </p><p>“Thanks. You know, you’re not so bad for an MIT student.” You told him with surprising sincerity, stealing one last kiss before you let go over his sweater and turned away. </p><p>“Come find me after the match?” You asked, eyes sparkling. Peter nodded. </p><p>“I promise.” He told you. You smiled and continued on your path down the hall without looking back. He watched you go, his eyes following you down the hall until you turned the corner and disappeared. </p><p>A moment later, Peter got a text on his phone. It was from Tony. </p><p><em> Do you want to tell me what the hell just happened? Just because you lost does not mean you get to seduce the finalist! </em> </p><p>He shot a cursory glance over his head, remembering that, especially in Stark Tower, the walls had both eyes and ears.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>there are like 1500 words in this chapter and at least six of them are “Fuck MIT” ... thanks for putting up with me</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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